Page 64

“And now you nearly left him alone permanently,” I snarl, unable to stop myself even when his eyes fill with tears. “What exactly did you think would happen when you rode into the mountains dressed like this? You know summer doesn’t reach up here!”

“I just wanted to see him.” His voice breaks. “I needed to know he was all right.”

“And I needed you not to die!”

The words leave me louder than I intended and are ripped away by the wind almost immediately, but Boone hears them. His eyes open a little wider as he looks up at me, and neither of us says anything.

Then his head drops against my chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

My arms tighten around him, but the apology does nothing to calm me. Every time I look down, all I can see is how pale he is and how easily I could have arrived ten minutes later.

“You should be,” I growl, pressing him harder against me as another tremor moves through his body. “When I get you back to the castle, I swear to God, Boone, you’re never leaving my sight again.”

He makes no attempt to argue. And arguing for Boone is second nature.

I look down at his closed eyes and tighten my grip. I nearly lost him. And I am still furious enough to shake him.

I grab Bramble’s reins and get Boone onto my horse, then climb into the saddle behind him. The moment I settle into place, he sags against me. I pull two wool blankets from the saddlebag, wrapping one tightly around his upper body and draping the other over his legs. It takes me a long moment to secure one arm around him while taking Bramble’s reins in my free hand.

It takes nearly twice as long to get back to the castle as it took me to find him. Bramble slows us even further, and my own horse is struggling with the weight of two full-grown men. The snow continues piling across the trail. Boone barely moves for most of the journey. Every few minutes, I tighten my arm around him or say his name just to make certain he responds, my anger growing every time his answer comes a little too slowly.

By the time the castle finally appears through the storm, my hands are aching from the cold and Boone is trembling against my chest. I get both horses into the stable as quickly as possible, make certain they’re sheltered, then lift Boone into my arms and carry him inside.

I take him directly to his room, and the moment I lower him onto the bed, I begin stripping away his wet clothes. Everything against his skin is cold and damp, stealing what little warmth remains in his body. I add several logs to the fire, return to him and pull off the rest of his clothes. I work the soaked socks from his feet and examine his toes carefully for discoloration.

They’re pale and cold, but they aren’t black.

“I’m sorry,” he manages.

“I’m sure you are,” I growl.

I drag the blankets over him, piling them around his body. I sit beside him and take his hands between mine. They’re still freezing, his fingers stiff against my palms as I rub them, trying to restore some warmth and blood flow while fighting the urge to tell him exactly what I think of his apology.

Tears gather in his eyes. “I just wanted—”

“I know what you wanted,” I snap.

I drop his hand and catch his chin instead, forcing him to look at me. All the fear I felt on that mountain transforms back into fury now that he’s lying safely in his own bed. “You will never leave this room again.”

If it’s possible, he pales even further. “Rhys, please.”

I stand without listening to whatever plea is about to follow and throw another blanket over him. Then I walk out, slam the door hard enough to shake it in its frame, and turn the key in the lock with deliberate force, making damn sure he hears it.

26

Boone

Weeks pass, and true to his word, Rhys keeps me locked inside my room. The door never opens unless he’s standing on the other side of it. I haven’t stepped into the corridor since the night I escaped, and I’ve reached the point where I sometimes find myself wishing the mountain had simply claimed my life rather than letting Rhys find me.

Whatever progress Rhys and I made prior to that night is gone, erased so completely that sometimes I wonder if I imagined it—the greenhouse, planting the cherry seed together, holding his hand through the corridors, sitting beside him while we ate, telling him stories in front of his fire. None of it seems to matter anymore. He brings me my meals and leaves the moment the tray touches the table, barely looking at me as he returns to the door and locks me inside again.

Today is no different.

The lock turns, and the door swings open while I remain sitting on the edge of the bed, watching Rhys enter with another tray balanced in his hands. He crosses the room without acknowledging me and sets it on the table. When he immediately turns back toward the door, something inside me gives way.

I decide to try again because I have nothing left to lose.